It's Okay
by SereneCalamity
Summary: Clint has always been worried about making a move on his best friend. BlackHawke. OneShot.


_I'm completely in love with Hawkeye and Black Widow, and after I saw the latest movie, I wanted to get this together. I'm also in love with Aaron Taylor-Johnson, that man is a fine example of puberty doing it right. This didn't quite go the way I wanted it to, but I'll put it up anyway._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own anything except any mistakes._

"You're pathetic," Pietro Maximoff grinned and held up his bottle of beer. Clint Barton narrowed his eyes at the other boy and looked back down at his tumbler of Scotch, pursing his lips. "You're now twenty-two. You've been moaning and moping over her for three years now."

"No one cares what you think," Clint muttered.

"They do," Pietro smirked.

"Well I fucking don't," Clint growled back. Pietro just grinned and went back to his beer. There was a pretty girl with long brown hair talking to her friend across the hall and Pietro had been eyeing her up for a while. She had noticed him and was fiddling with her hair, tilting her hair to the side and shooting looks across at Pietro. Clint rolled his eyes when he saw Pietro sending 'fuck me' back to the girl. "Why don't you go over there and screw her already?" Clint snapped finally.

"Really? You don't think I should wait three years and act like her lap dog?" Pietro asked, his tone teasing. Clint's expression stayed stony as he turned to look up at him and Pietro smirked back. "Yeah, I didn't that was the best idea either. I'm gonna go and make my move. You should take notes." Pietro finished his beer and put it down on table behind him before walking over to the two girls. Clint narrowed his eyes as he watched the smooth talking Russian close the deal easily with the brunette.

And, it appeared, her blonde friend as well.

"I'm not a fucking lap dog," Clint hissed, looking after Pietro and his two lovers for the night, completely unaware of the red head coming up from behind him.

"Who's lap dog?" Natasha Romanov asked, tilting her head to the side. Clint spun around and looked at her, Natasha giving him her gorgeous, innocent smile.

"No one. Pietro was being an asshole again," Clint replied, the corner of his lips quirking upwards slightly. Clint wasn't known for his bedside manner and smiley demeanor, and apparently that was one of the reason that Natasha had become friends with her to begin with. It probably took about six months of friendship before he gave her the first upturn of his mouth.

"You just don't like him because he's getting laid tonight by two hotties and you haven't had sex in two months," Natasha smirked and leaned back against the wall, bending one of her leg at the knee an bracing it behind her.

"It's been longer than two months, Nat," Clint told her.

"Shit. No wonder you're in a bad mood," she continued to smirk at him, her green eyes dancing.

"Thanks for your belief in me," Clint rolled his eyes.

"I believe that you could get laid if you didn't ignore half the chicks that give you the eye," Natasha replied, her gorgeous voice teasing as he turned his body toward her. "You get so many girls looking at you, and you act like you're above them all."

"I do not!" Clint protested.

"Then why do you turn your nose up and walk the other way?" She asked, an eyebrow quirking.

"I'm just not into them!" Clint said.

"So?" Natasha pushed.

"So, what?" Clint frowned at her.

"So how long has it been?" She continued.

"I don't know," he shrugged, turning back to face the crowd of people in the room.

"That's bullshit," Natasha grinned and nudged him in the side again. "Everyone knows how long it's been." Clint pressed his lips together, watching as a horde of drunk boys stumbled past them, yelling something about a guy who was going to try and fly off the side of the two storied house they were partying in and make it into the pool below. "Yo, Barton." He rolled his eyes back to her and made a face.

"Fine. Like...Eight months," he admitted.

"It's been eight months since you've been laid?" Natasha asked in disbelief.

"Look," Clint was now looking a little pissed off as he turned to face her. "I'm not into the chicks at our school. The last girl I slept with was Laura, and there hasn't been anyone that I've wanted to be with since then who has wanted to be with me. I'm not just going out there to fuck anyone with tits." Natasha looked surprise at his outburst as he put down the glass on a nearby table. "I'm out. Call me if you need a ride home." And with that, he was blending in with a group of students who were cheering on two girls who were making out.

Natasha blinked after him, a confused look on her beautiful face.

* * *

Laura Cardellini had been Clint's girlfriend for almost three months, probably his longest relationship. She was nice enough, and Natasha would have liked her.

Except she was too busy disliking her for stealing away her best friend and the guy that she had been a little bit in love with since she had first met him.

Natasha chewed down on her lower lip as she swallowed back the rest of her vodka and orange juice and threw the plastic cup in a nearby trash can. She hated these College parties, and only came to them because of Clint. He said that they needed to 'expand their horizons' and 'enjoy the full college experience'—something that she was pretty sure his mother had chanted to him when he went home for Christmas break. And now, she was drunk and alone, and she had pissed off the only guy that she could hold a conversation with.

She tipped her head forward, her long red hair surrounding her face as she fumbled with her pocket, pulling out her phone and finding him in the contacts. She didn't want to drunk dial him, and slur her words, so she sent off a text, her screen slightly blurry. The reply was instant, which shouldn't have surprised her, because Clint was always there for her.

 _I'll be there in ten minutes._

True to his word, Clint was pulling up at the curb outside the house where the party was and Natasha was waiting outside, feeling cold in the tiny denim mini shorts she was wearing and white tank top. He leaned across the car to push open the passenger seat door and she slid inside, shooting him a quick smile. Clint didn't say anything as he turned up the heat and pulled away from the curb of the car. Natasha licked her lower lip and took in a deep breath through her nose, wondering if she was meant to say something first—usually it was Clint who initiated conversation. They made it all the way back to his apartment without saying a word, and he got out of the car without waiting for her.

"Hold up, Clint!" She called as she jogged after him, toward the stairs going up the side of his apartment building.

"I'm tired, Tash," he mumbled in reply.

"Hey, no—wait up!" She had to lengthen her stride to catch up with him, stopping him before he put his key into the lock of his apartment. "I'm sorry for pushing you back at the party. I didn't think you would get upset."

"I'm fine, okay?" He gave her a hard look and she couldn't help but snort. That earned her another annoyed look and she quickly pushed her lips together.

"Okay, sorry, it's just...Well, you're clearly not fine," she stated. He let out a short breath through clenched teeth and unlocked his apartment door, nudging it open with his foot and moving around her. Natasha sighed as she followed him into the familiar apartment. He went straight to the couch, where he had already thrown down a couple of blankets and Natasha couldn't help but smile slightly.

He was annoyed at her, and yet he was still giving her his bed and taking the couch.

Natasha paused for a moment, between the kitchen and the lounge, but Clint rolled over and put his back to her pointedly. She sighed and walked down the hallway toward his bedroom. She undressed, dumping her clothes unceremoniously on the ground and rummaged through his drawer, pulling out one of Clint's shirts and sitting down on the edge of his bed. She was pretty drunk, and she was staring at the door leading back out into the lounge, contemplating going back out to talk to him. It probably wasn't a good idea, but sitting here in his room, alone, surrounded by his scent just didn't feel like enough right now. She got up and stumbled back out to the lounge, trying to be quiet as she padded over to where he was laying on the couch. It looked as though he was asleep, and she was thinking about going back to the bedroom when he spoke.

"What's up, Tasha?" He asked quietly. She walked over and sat down on the edge of the couch and touched his arms softly. He froze under her touch before slowly turning over to look up at him, the blanket falling down around his waist. Natasha couldn't help but let her eyes trail down to scan over his toned torso and didn't look back up until Clint cleared his throat. She realized that she had been zoned out in her drunken state and she cleared her throat.

"I don't want you to be pissed off at me," she said softly.

"Tash—I'm not—"

"Yes, you are," she interrupted him.

"I'm just sick of you acting like there's something wrong with the fact I don't have sex!" Clint exclaimed. "It's not that I don't _want_ to, it's just that—"

"Who is it?" She interrupted him again. Clint blinked.

"What?" He asked, bewildered.

"Who is it?" Natasha repeated. "You said that the last person you slept with was Laura, and that you haven't had sex since then because the person you wanted to sleep with hasn't wanted to have sex with _you_."

"That wasn't exactly what I said," Clint made a face as he tried to straighten himself up, making himself feel as though he was at less of a disadvantage.

"You pretty much said that," Natasha shot back.

"Can we just drop this, Tasha?"

"Who is it, Clint?! We tell each other everything—"

"It's you, Natasha!" Clint shouted at her, finally in a seating position and glaring at her. Natasha snapped her jaws shut, blinking at him. "Shit, it's always been you. But you just never seemed interested in being more than friends and I wasn't going to fuck that up in case I was right." Natasha licked his lips and leaned in slightly so that there were only a couple of inches between them.

"You wouldn't have fucked it up," her voice was hoarse. Clint stared back at her for a long time, not blinking. Natasha was starting to feel unnerved, and that wasn't something that she felt often. Then she saw his eyes drop to her lips and she knew that he'd made up his mind.

"Okay," he murmured. She swallowed hard.

"Okay?" Natasha asked, wondering where he was going.

"Okay," he let out a loud 'whoosh' of breath and moved forward, crashing his lips down on hers. Natasha squeaked and responded, returning the pressure with vigour and wrapping an arm around his neck. Clint wasn't giving her a minute to take a breath, pushing himself forward off the arm rest of the couch so that he was leaning in to her. She let him lay her down, stretching over her and framing her face with his hands. She arched her back, trying to get closer to him as her hands trailed up and down his side, slipping under the hem of his shirt and resting on his warm skin. His tongue tangled with hers and massaged it, tracing the warm cavern of her mouth, nipping down on her lower lip. When air became a necessity, they pulled apart, but he still stayed so close they were sharing a breath. Natasha stared up at him, her eyes glazed and her lips swollen. He still looked kind of worried and his eyes were skimming over her, as though expecting her to burst his bubble.

"Okay," Natasha repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and reached out to pull him back into her.

 _It's my birthday today as well, so if you liked it, leave a review and let me know :)_

 _Hope you enjoyed!_


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